


I think it could be good

by to_convey



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019-2020 NHL Season, 2020 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Alpha!JT, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Colorado Avalanche, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Omega!Tyson, bubble hockey, just straight up fluff yall, this is a bit of a mess and i’m sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25779895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/to_convey/pseuds/to_convey
Summary: This season has been anything but typical.Between the uncertainty of whether or not they’d actually get to start playing again and the chaos of training camp and packing for who knows how long of bubble life, his heat date may have taken a backseat in the bowl of soup that has been his overloaded attention span these last few weeks.And who can blame him?He can probably blame himself, that’s who.
Relationships: J. T. Compher/Tyson Jost
Comments: 2
Kudos: 80





	I think it could be good

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the wonderfully named [I planned my heat for August fuck you Bettman](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PlayoffHeats) collab collection created by the amazing and lovely people on the Hockey RPF discord. Thank you to those responsible for this challenge - I had an absolute blast writing this fic and I cannot wait to see what everyone else has written! If you're here, please be sure to check out all the other amazing works available in the collection.
> 
> Thank you also to my Beta, Zoe, who was only able to Beta the first half of this fic because I procrastinated far too much and ended up completing this long after she was asleep due to stupid timezones. Any mistakes are mine and mine alone because she worked her magic with the pile of bullet points I thrust at her and then I proceeded to make an even bigger mess without her supervision.

The little notification reminder pops up on Tyson’s phone as the plane lands in Edmonton, causing him to freeze in his steps. Burky, who’d had his nose buried in his own phone as they disembarked, stumbles into him, a Swedish curse falling from his lips. 

Burky raises one perfect Swedish brow, and seriously, how the fuck do the Swedes just look like  _ that _ . Tyson waves him off and shuffles his feet a little bit. 

_ Fuck _ . 

He’d known, hypothetically, that his heat was coming, right. Ever since he presented as an omega, he’s always arranged for hit heat to hit at the beginning of August, for the offseason. Tyson’s not good at keeping up with much but he’s good at keeping up with his suppressants, because hockey comes first for him and August is  _ typically _ enough time for him to unwind from the season and find a willing partner for a few days. 

Only... This season is anything but  _ typical _ . 

Between the uncertainty of whether or not they’d actually get to start playing again and the chaos of training camp and packing for who knows how long of bubble life, his heat date may have taken a backseat in the bowl of soup that has been his overloaded attention span these last few weeks.

And who can blame him? 

He can blame himself, that’s who, because Tyson doesn’t think he even grabbed very many toys, and heats alone are the  _ literal _ worst, and holy fuck, he’s having a bit of a freak out in the middle of a searing tarmac in a city he’ll be stuck in, without heat help, for (hopefully) months. 

Someone bumps his shoulder and the soft scent of cinnamon and brown sugar the faintest hint of leather invades Tyson’s nose just enough for him to snap out of his stupor and realize he’s frozen in his tracks and his face probably looks a little hysterical right now. 

“Josty, you good, man?” 

JT’s warm brown eyes are scanning his body, as if seeking out some sort of injury or something, which, hey, give him some credit, he’s fine, not going to injure himself just on the twenty yard walk from the plane to the bus. 

“Yeah, all good,” Tyson chokes out, a smile he knows must look forced stretching artificially across his cheeks, and fuck, JT’s question wasn’t as quiet as he must have meant it to be, because now Gabe is glancing over his shoulder at them,  _ concerned dad eyebrows _ in full force. 

Fucking Swedish eyebrows

“Seriously, I’m fine, just stiff from the flight.”

And it’s true, he’s okay, really. For now, at least. Give him a week or so and they’ll see how true that is, then. 

He waves off his teammates’ concern and forces his stiffened joints back into motion, companionably bumping back into JT, smile coming easier now, which has the desired benefit of wiping at least some of the worry off of JT’s face. Gabe’s gaze lingers for a moment, eyes _far_ too knowing for Josty’s tastes, but he climbs onto the bus without another word. 

His mind is still tuned into  _ hyper frantic mode _ , though, even as he follows JT onto the charter, staring unseeingly at the way the JT’s back muscles shift under his shirt. 

He’s wracking his brain, trying to figure out how, exactly, he could have forgotten such a big fucking deal, because, fuck, this is going to mess with the team, with dynamics, maybe with their prospects. 

It's all Tyson can do to seek out Sammy before the bus lurches into motion , who Tyson knows must also have his heat planned for around this time, slumped casually against the window,  still half asleep from the flight.

Tyson’s forced back into his seat with a huff. Fuck. He wonders what Sammy is planning on doing, how the fuck this is going to work for any of them, because he knows for a fact most NHL omegas tend to keep their heats to the offseason. Maybe he should text Big Tyson, see how he’s planning on dealing with this clusterfuck.

JT catches his attention from across the aisle. 

“Seriously, dude,” and at least he’s lowered his voice this time, “what the fuck is going on? You’re not usually so…” JT’s face scrunches into his signature  _ thinking harder than his two braincells can keep up with _ face until he finally comes out with “morose!” He looks far too proud of himself for using a word Kerfy probably taught him last year. 

“Don’t tell me Alexander sent you another one of those stupid word of the day calendars again, JT. Don’t hurt yourself trying to read big Harvard words.” 

He gets an eyeroll and a huff for his troubles, as well as the added benefit of JT settling back in his seat without another word, presumably figuring that if Tyson’s chirping, he’s okay. The petulant set of JT’s jaw makes Tyson smile. 

They make it to JW Marriot without incident and it almost feels like a normal roadie to Edmonton, except for all of the ways it doesn’t. They’re all carrying three times the normal amount of luggage and Tyson’s already become accustomed to the daily assault to his nostrils for testing. 

Tyson’s even got his ukulele tucked safely under his arm and he fully plans on irritating the hell out of the team in the team lobby. Some of the guys have already razzed him for it, and they’ll be the first ones on the list to be woken up by  _ Wonderwall _ through their door at 3am. 

The check in process is meticulous and they’re all instructed to read the precautions and NHL restart manual as soon as they make it to their rooms,  _ before you unpack, I mean it, guys _ , and honestly, once Tyson makes it to his room, the words start blurring to the point that he’s barely able to finish it, completely wiped from the full day of travel. 

When he finally climbs into bed, however, his brain kicks back into overdrive. What the fuck is he going to do? It would have been much easier, Tyson thinks, if he were bonded. 

The thing is, though, that Tyson’s never really seen the point of bonding. 

Tying yourself to an Alpha for the rest of your life sounds kind of exhausting, if you ask him. Which, no one really does, but. 

See, Tyson’s mom isn’t bonded, and she’s the best fucking person on the entire Earth, managing to raise him and his sister without issue, kicking ass and taking names the entire time. She’s the smartest, sweetest, most capable person he knows, hands down, and if she didn’t need a bond to do it all, then, well, why does Tyson?

JT has tested that belief, however. 

Despite popular opinion, Tyson has a couple brain cells that work, okay, and he can recognize that JT might be having feelings that are more than  _ buddies _ . 

Scenting and pheromones helped Tyson to realize that those times when JT had shifted a little closer, had talked a little sweeter, they’d all been because he’s interested and his scent goes a little mellow and soft. 

It’s subtle, the change, but Tyson’s lived with this guy for long enough that he’s completely familiar with the intricacies of JT’s scent, could pick the guy out of a lineup of a hundred alphas with a blindfold on, so when JT’s scent started taking on an edge Tyson’d never scented before, he knew something had to be up.

And, well, he thinks JT recognizes his own scent just as well, can detect when Tyson’s feeling a little soft for someone who should just be his best buddy.

But here’s the thing. After too much tequila following their Valentine’s Day game last year, both JT and Josty were stuck alone whining drunkenly on the couch while Kerfy was out, like, romancing his girlfriend, or whatever. 

And maybe JT had rhapsodized about finding someone, a bond, a life partner. Someone to share his life, to make breakfast for in the morning - or, in JT’s case, just toast, because that was about all he could handle without setting the fire alarms off - and just generally an omega to bond with. To finally share a heat with someone, because JT still has some old-world ideas about romance and the intimacy required for heats is just too much for something casual.

Honestly, it was all really sweet. 

Which is of course when Tyson opened his big mouth and complained about the societal pressures to bond and how it all seemed to be more trouble than it was worth. There were so many  _ what ifs _ to consider, like, what if you ended up regretting it? It’s not like bonds ever completely fade, and what then? Tyson didn’t think he could handle it, and he was not afraid to list every single reason why. 

JT let him rant and rave for the better part of a half hour, silent the whole time, before he left with a tired and reserved  _ goodnight, Tys, _ leaving Tyson to try and fail to train his drunken gaze on JT’s retreating form. 

Was it something he said? 

He’d apologized the next morning, but Tyson knew he and JT could never be compatible. Differences of opinion were one thing, but disagreeing about the necessity of bonding? That was a big one that neither of them were willing to air out. 

Then came the compartmentalizing of feelings, as only emotionally stunted young men know how to do, and despite the ways their scents betrayed them, JT and Tyson kept their feelings at a distance, especially from each other. 

Sometimes Tyson still gets caught with his gaze lingering on JT’s back muscles shifting as he tugs off his base layer in the locker room, flushed and sweaty and smelling sweetly of success, and sometimes JT’s hands brush Tyson’s as they collaborate on dinner on the rare evenings they eat together. 

It doesn’t mean anything, it can’t, not when they’ve both been so set and stubborn, but sometimes… sometimes, Tyson  _ craves _ . 

He huffs at himself. They have to skate in the morning and here he is, keeping himself awake with impossibilities and useless scenarios running circles in his mind. 

It’s not like JT can help solve his heat problem, anyway. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


They’re chilling after dinner in the team lounge and Tyson’s half watching basketball and half texting Kerfy about his dilemma. Just because the fucker moved to a different country doesn’t mean he’s spared from Tyson’s whining. 

_ Alexander _

_ Kerf _

_ KERFY!!!! _

> What, Tyson. We have practice in the morning shut tf up

_ Kerfy it’s an emergency i have feelings _

> Fuck dude are you just now realizing
> 
> Talk to JT

_ Wait how did you know i was talking about jt _

Kerfy doesn’t even respond, which is rude.

Useless. 

Josty sneaks a look across the room at JT under his lashes, going for subtle, only to find JT’s eyes are on him already, nostrils flared and eyes a little wild.

Before he knows what’s going on, JT’s up and out of his chair where he’d been playing Fortnite with Cale, his long fingers wrapped tightly around Tyson’s wrist and dragging him up and out of the room. All without a single word.

JT’s cheeks are a little flushed by the time Tyson frees himself from JT’s grip and he’s kind of breathing heavy, what the fuck?

“What the fuck? JT, what-”

“I think you’re going into heat,” JT blurts, eyes dark and serious, but he’s politely stepping back enough to give Tyson some space. 

And he needs the space, too, because, shit, shitting fuck, now that he thinks about it, he’s settling firmly into preheat, had been dismissing the signs as symptoms of team practice, and he still hasn’t solved his problem of  _ no heat partner _ . He’s had to go through heats alone before and had been so miserable that now he tries to avoid that at all costs, thank you. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, dragging an errant hand through his curls, mussed and fluffy from the shower he’d taken after practice. 

“I thought you could, you know, schedule these things?” 

“Yeah, mine’s scheduled for the offseason, usually, but…” And now Tyson’s breath is coming a little quicker and his body is warmer and his hands might be shaking, just a bit.

He needs to nest. 

It’s an instinct he can’t explain, trust him, he’s tried, okay, but no one but other omegas really get it. It’s like, an itch, okay, under his skin, driving him to find a safe place to prepare and… 

Tyson takes a deep breath. He’s still in preheat, he’s still got his mind about him, still got control. He looks up and meets JT’s eyes, those same kind, warm brown eyes that are so at odds with the way JT presents himself, and JT’s scent prods at his senses, inviting and full of  _ alpha _ and arousal teasing at the edges, and - 

Tyson takes another deep breath and shakes himself. 

JT’s not his mate, JT doesn’t want the same things he does, and JT knows that, too. Still, Tyson has to bite his tongue to prevent him from inviting the alpha back to den up with him. 

“Gonna go nest, thanks for the warning,” Tyson manages to grit out, forcing a smile. JT makes an abortive movement, as if to reach out and touch, and the omega inside Tyson is fully prepared to roll over and offer its belly for JT, and shit, he needs to get out of here before he does something he regrets. 

“I could, uh- no. Nevermind, good luck.” JT is a little pink cheeked. Tyson has to force his attention off of wondering how far down that blush goes and also off of the aborted sentence. He turns abruptly, making a beeline for his room, nails cutting into his palms as he tries to keep himself from reaching out. 

Nesting outside of your home sucks, truly, Tyson decides as he pulls the comforter out from where it’s tucked into the foot of the bed, methodically arranging the strange-smelling and unfamiliar bedding in a little semicircle on top of the king sized bed.

At least they’ve given everyone their own room so he doesn’t have to freak out a roomie. 

In no time at all, the buzzing under Tyson’s skin chills out, a little bit, at least, as he snuggles into the curve of the nest, piled high with all the extra pillows the hotel has to offer, as well as a couple sweatshirts and all the cozy clothes Tyson could dig out of his bag. 

No, mom, he hasn’t fully unpacked yet. They’ve been busy. 

He’s scrolling aimlessly on Twitter, because there’s not much else to do while he just waits for his heat to kick in. He shoots off a quick text to Gabe and Bednar and the trainers letting them know, before muting the conversations so he doesn’t have to read their concerned questions about heat help. 

He’ll be fine. It’s just a few days. It’ll suck, sure, but the opportunity of playoffs is too big to miss for something as miniscule as heat sex. 

JT’s scent is still lingering in his nostrils, though. 

He swipes into his text convo with JT. 

He shouldn’t, he knows. He really shouldn’t. Both of them have made their feelings clear. There’s no use putting either of them into situations they would rather avoid. 

But like, here’s the thing. 

Would bonding with JT really be all that bad?

They’ve already proven they can live together without biting each other’s heads off, and JT’s never reduced him to just his dynamic, and fuck, he’s so hot, Tyson bets his knot would make his heat chill the fuck out real quick. 

He’s salivating over the thought, lost in his own head, when his phone pings. 

Speak of the devil. 

_ Doin ok, stinky? _

Tyson snorts. Here he is, having uncharacteristically soft thoughts about his best friend, and JT just has to be himself to ruin it. 

(If Tyson’s honest with himself, it just makes him more fond than anything else.)

_ Ya, stinkier. Already told coach n gabe n the trainers _

_ Ok have fun n stuff _

Tyson huffs a bit of a laugh that isn’t all that joyful. Have fun. Like a heat, all alone in unfamiliar territory without a knot is going to be much fun. 

Fuck, speaking of knotting.

Tyson rifles through his small collection of toys he brought into the bubble with him and comes up with… exactly zero knotting dildos. 

Fuck. Fucking shit. 

Okay,  _ now _ the panic starts to set in, because while it’s definitely possible to get through a heat without a knot, it’s going to be completely miserable and Tyson’s definitely gonna miss more than a few practices and games. He’s a goddamn idiot. 

His skin feels a little too tight for his body and there’s  _ something _ simmering right below his skin, and unfortunately, the omega inside him is begging for an alpha’s touch to chill him the fuck out. 

Tyson clenches his eyes shut, takes a deep breath. Shit. 

Unwarranted, the image of JT’s warm brown eyes and lips twisted into a somewhat concerned frown pop into his head. Without a second thought, Tyson’s got his phone in hand. 

_ How do u feel about a cuddle? I've already got the nest set up. Just for a bit, u kno, u can leave when it starts.  _

He waits a couple seconds, before deciding that if that isn’t pathetic enough, begging his best friend to come snuggle him until his mind shuts up, he might as well jump off the deep end. 

_ Please. Need u.  _

JT doesn’t respond, and Tyson deflates. Not only is he a nervous omega in preheat, he’s an omega who can’t even get his best friend’s attention.

And then there’s a knock on the door, interrupting Tyson’s self-deprecating internal monologue.

He slumps over to the door, wondering if maybe he’d ordered room service and forgotten about it, only to find a shuffling JT on the other side with a hesitant smile plastered on his face. He looks soft, in some ratty joggers and an Avs t-shirt. He’s not even wearing shoes, and there's a hole in his left sock.

Tyson doesn’t even think, doesn’t blink, just follows his instincts and moves right into JT’s arms like he can’t breathe without being pressed to JT’s chest. 

The thrum in Tyson’s bones quiets easily there, JT’s scent invading every one of his senses, in the safe circle of his alpha’s arms, and wait, what?

Compartmentalization, Tyson, you know how to do it. It’s just a fancy word for repression, at this point. 

But the way that JT’s arms around Tyson only make his muscles unlock, tension bleeding out of him until he’s at risk of purring all over JT right here in the doorway, and Tyson realizes just how  _ right _ it feels as he pulls JT toward the bed and into his nest. 

Potentially, he could actually have this, JT’s warmth and strength and support, depending on, well. Depending on the small factor of JT still harboring some sort of feelings for Tyson. And with the way JT’s scent, softer than normal, rounded out around the edges, Tyson has a good feeling. His heart does a little tap dance in his chest and he doesn’t think it’s because of his incoming heat. 

They curl up together without a word. They don’t need to speak, at this point. They know each other as well as they know themselves. Maybe better. JT just scoots in behind Tyson until his chest is pressed firmly against Tyson’s back, curling around him until they’re surrounded by pillows and blankets and their combined scents.

Tyson’s never had an alpha in his nest before, he realizes with a start, but that thought fades in the face of JT tucking Tyson in close to his body and entangling their legs. Tyson’s preheat pheromones must be driving JT’s alpha instincts a little bit insane, Tyson realizes, but you wouldn’t know from looking at him. 

The quiet lingers for a while, the only noises in the room are shuffling sheets and their quiet breaths, both of them too hesitant to upset the balance to dare speak.

Until, that is, JT does exactly that. 

“Tyson… you know that I, well, I don’t. I can’t do this for an omega I’m not gonna bond with. It’s. It’s, like, too much, whatever, you know? It’s too much.”

“I know.” It’s not like Tyson isn’t fully aware of what JT’s insinuating, after all. 

There’s a beat of tense silence, before Tyson spits out the thought that has been gnawing at the back of his mind for the last few days.

“What if we were, though?”

JT is completely silent, like Tyson’s speaking another language. 

“You know. Gonna bond. Or. We can talk about it, at least.”

“I.. Tyson, I thought you think bonds are bullshit and some fucking social construct. Which, by the way, I’m not the only one using Kerfy’s word of the day calendar, you fucker.”

That draws a reluctant smile out of Tyson, before he turns in JT’s arms. Their faces are very close. Tyson can feel the soft puffs of JT’s breath against his cheek. If he just shifted, just a little...

“Yeah, and you know, I don’t think I’m wrong.”

There’s another pause, so heavy Tyson thinks he might choke on it. 

“But. I think it could be good. With you.”

JT’s breath comes shakier now and his eyes widen as they scan Tyson’s face, as if searching for sincerity. 

“You’re serious.” It’s not a question, but Tyson nods his head anyway, carefully cataloguing the way JT’s gaze brightens, the way his lips twitch up into a broad grin, and the way his grip on Tyson’s shoulders tightens. 

“Fuck, Tys, you could have said something earlier, you know?”

“I didn’t know! I thought, I dunno, we were just never going to match up like that. But then I started thinking about how stupid your morning face is and it stopped being stupid and became…” Tyson blushes preemptively. “Cute. Endearing, or whatever. And how I’d like to wake up to it. All the time.”

“Aw, fuck, Tyson, sounds like you’ve got a crush!”

JT’s borderline giddy now, dark eyes shining with mirth, grinning so wide that Tyson’s a little worried he might pull a muscle. That’d be a hell of a story to tell the trainers. 

“Shut the fuck up, dude, you’re one to talk. I could smell your crush on me from here to Denver.”

Rather than taking it as the admittedly weak chirp that it is, JT’s smile just broadens, somehow, and then he’s rolling Tyson until he’s flat on his back and JT’s hovering over him, elbows braced on either side of his head, and shit, Tyson’s breath catches at the view. 

“I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?” 

And Tyson doesn’t trust himself to speak, doesn’t trust himself not to screw this up before he’s even begun, so he just snaps his gaping mouth shut and nods frantically. 

The moment their lips touch, Tyson’s body absolutely comes alive and he can feel the warmth spreading down to the tips of his toes. 

It’s a gentle kiss, more exploratory than demanding, but Tyson’s panting when they break apart anyway.

“We gotta do that again,” Tyson blurts, flushing red, and all he gets is a chuckle before JT’s complying, settling onto Tyson’s chest and cupping Tyson’s face in his hands. 

But the warmth is ramping up, causing Tyson to shudder violently and clutch desperately at JT’s shoulders, and oh yeah, how could he forget, he’s going into fucking heat.

“Wait wait wait,” Tyson mutters against JT’s lips, because he doesn’t think he could physically pull himself away at this point, until JT pulls away for him, eyebrows creased in concern.

“No, don’t worry, I was just.” Tyson chews on his lip, which already feels a little swollen, a little hot. “Just, does this mean you’re going to stay? And, uh. It would mean a lot to me if you did and helped me through my heat. I don’t even have any of the right toys with me, okay, it would fucking suck without your help, and not only that, but like, I kinda really want to share this with you, you know, because it’s so important to -”

Tyson’s cut off, rather effectively, by JT slanting their lips together once more, and now Tyson’s panting and flushed for a whole new reason, one his body is becoming very insistent about. 

“I’ve been taking care of your dumbass for years now, and I plan on doing it for a long time coming.”

  
Heh.  _ Long time coming. _ Not if Tyson has anything to say about it, and that’s the last fully coherent thought he has before he’s scrabbling to drag JT closer. 

**Author's Note:**

> And then they have a lot of sex (I am not confident in my smut-writing abilities I'm sorry) and then the Avs proceed to win the Cup (hopefully I didn't just jinx them). 
> 
> Kudos and comments make me happier than you could ever imagine!
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://capbennie.tumblr.com/) and say hi!


End file.
